


The Colonel and the Cop

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Wrong Number [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Artist Steve Rogers, F/M, Friendship, Post-Avengers (2012), Texting, Wrong number, sharon carter appreciation month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6165862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His phone buzzed. <i>I don't think I'm who you're trying to get ahold of. But I'm fine and Famous Nick's on 30th is shit. Just FYI.</i></p><p><i>Sorry. Mistyped.</i> People who made chitchat on a wrong number call were as bad as people who talked at the theatre. It was probably the same for texting. And yet. . .he really wasn't in the mood for a bad lunch, and that had practically been bait. <i>Something better nearby?</i></p><hr/><p>When a mis-typed number turns into a friendship conducted entirely through text message, Steve Rogers finds someone he can be honest with. A small safe place to be himself without his history and fame weighing him down. But as things get more serious he finds he wants to come clean, and finds out the mysterious person on the other end has secrets of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I am an utter sucker for the wrong number trope. It's just catnip for me and I can't explain why. So we wrote one and it was just as much fun as I had hoped it would be.

Steve was starting to think he had the wrong pizza place.

He and Sam had a standing Thursday lunch date, Avenger business or other emergency allowing. It had been Sam's idea to start trying new restaurants, once he'd tried every dish in their usual cafe twice over. Steve had figured it was as good a chance as any to expand his horizons. 

But it was now twenty past twelve and there was no sign of his friend. Sam was never this late, and never failed to let him know if something had come up. So he pulled out his phone and sent him a text. His phone was new and some of his saved numbers hadn't ported over when he switched. There was probably some easy way to do it, but when Steve asked people how to do technical things he then had to put up with several days of "poor confused Captain America can't make the technologies work" and he just wasn't up for it. So he typed Sam's number in manually and sent, _Is everything okay or am I at the wrong Famous Nicks?_

He people watched for a moment before the phone buzzed. _I don't think I'm who you're trying to get ahold of. But I'm fine and Famous Nick's on 30th is shit. Just FYI._

 _Sorry. Mistyped._ People who made chitchat on a wrong number call were as bad as people who talked at the theatre. It was probably the same for texting. And yet. . .he really wasn't in the mood for a bad lunch, and that had practically been bait. _Something better nearby?_

There was a longer pause this time. _Are you stuck on pizza? 'Cause there's a good Thai place about two blocks north. Or a damn fine deli across the street. For pizza I prefer Authentic Famous Nick's on 23rd._

_How many Famous Nick's ARE there in this city?_

This response was quicker. _Google indicates at least seven combinations of Nick and Famous in the boroughs. I would have guessed more, frankly._

_My friend is probably at one of the other ones._

_Probably._ He thought that was probably it. Just an odd little story to tell Sam whenever he got in touch with him. Then his phone pinged again. _Man, now I want pizza. I better stop somewhere on the way to work._

 _Where do you work?_ He regretted that the moment he sent it, because it was probably weird thing to be asking a random stranger over text message. _Scratch that. Nowadays people find that sort of question creepy, don't they?_

_"What do you do" might have been a better way to phrase it. I'm not scared of the anonymous person on the other end of the phone, so I'll tell you, I'm a detective at the 78th._

_The back of that sentence explains a lot about the front._

_Doesn't it, though? I feel like you owe me a tidbit of personal information. Assuming you don't have to go find your date._

_I'm walking to the other one now._ Because he said it, he had to actually start walking. And that gave him time to figure out how to answer that. He didn't actually have a job. After he was found, a military policy about recovered POW/MIA soldiers awarded him 70 years of back pay, plus interest, plus promoted him in absentia up to Colonel and offered him full retirement at that rank. Unless he turned out to be immortal—which was a _terrifying_ thought—Steve would never need to work again.

Of course, he-or-she could not see how young he was, so it was probably easiest to be honest. _I am retired, from the Army. So I am at my leisure all day._

_Oh, a vet. I shall revise my assessment from "not scared" to "cautiously wary." Sir._

_Is this revision an upgrade or a downgrade?_

_That probably depends on if you plan on committing any crimes._

That made him laugh. _The statue of limitations has long expired on any crime I've committed, I assure you._

_Well, good. I like people who can take me in a fight but only if I'll probably never fight them._

_Would it alter your assessment if I told you the war I fought in involved Nazis?_ Whomever this person was—at the moment he was leaning toward young-ish man given the topic—he absolutely could take them in a fight. But he kind of hated that. He'd never thought about how after the war he'd have to live with this body, and how differently everyone would look at him. Good and bad.

The phone buzzed in his hand. _I know some terrifying octogenarians, you can't fool me._

_Fair enough, kid, fair enough._

He walked half a block before the phone pinged again. _Mmm, coffee. My day has officially begun. Next, pizza for breakfast._

_You just woke up?_

_I worked the late shift last night. Not everyone clocks out at five._

_Fair enough, I've worked my share of weird hours._

_Police work can be feast or famine. Unfortunately, we're feasting lately._ Steve turned down 23rd and sure enough, he could see Sam standing under a red striped awning.

_Authentic Famous Nick's on 23rd was the right one, btw. I found my friend._

_Well then, one lost soul in the city helped. I'm off to a good start today._

Sam waved to him, and he waved back. _Thanks for the company on my walk, Detective._

_Enjoy your lunch, citizen._

*

This had been a shitty day.

It had started out as a perfectly nice day. A good tip on a case Sharon had been working on for ages had led to a stake out which had led to a merry chase through Chinatown which had led to a collar. Which had, unfortunately, gotten Sharon two broken ribs. After a visit to the hospital to confirm this she'd attempted to go back to the station for paperwork and had been sent home on mandatory leave. Three weeks on leave and another month on desk duty.

This was a shit day.

Her partner had set her up on the couch with her laptop, phone, snacks, and TV remote and gone back to the station to do his job like she should be doing. Sharon scowled her way through some late afternoon television and turned it off.

She scanned through her phone trying to think who she could whine to, but most of her friends were on the force or would tattle on her to her mother. 

In her old texts she came across the wrong-number chat she'd had with the old vet last week. He might not appreciate whining, but he might commiserate on the shittiness of her day. Some grumpy old man wisdom sounded like just the ticket.

_Have you ever had a day you just wanted to punch the world in the face?_

The reply took less than a minute. _I have had many, many of those days._

She smiled. Yes. This had been a good decision. _Ever find a way to make them better?_

_I punch things. Fogwell's in Hell's Kitchen. Tell them The Colonel sent you._

She sighed and winced when her ribs complained. _Unfortunately, there'll be no physical exertion for me for the foreseeable. Doctor's orders._

_World punched you first, huh?_

_I think it was a combination of foot and concrete steps but I confess the details are slightly fuzzy._

_Your options are probably limited to heavy drinking, unfortunately._

This time she stifled the sigh before it could hurt. _Probably interacts with my meds. Netflix binge it is._

_I concede this is an appropriate occasion to sit on your ass watching TV._

_What do cranky retired vets do with themselves during the day? Other than humor cops on disability._

To her surprise, the reply was a picture, a photo of a half done sketch of the harbor from what looked like Battery Park. Setting aside the joke about the fact that he was drawing the Statue of Liberty, it was really good. Impressively steady hands for someone who couldn't possibly be younger than 85.

 _That's amazing._ She was going to blame the drugs for not thinking of anything better to say. _I'm sorry. I'm distracting you._

_I like the company. Most of my friends are dead._

Now that was just sad. She had to think he was doing that on purpose. _They have a book about that. With a dinosaur._ She did a quick Google search and sent him a link to the Amazon listing. 

It was several minutes before he replied. She wondered if he downloaded it. Which she'd give him great credit for. Her mother had trouble with the internet and she was 64. _That looks like a children's book written for denizens of the iron lung ward. Or maybe old people with Alzheimers._ There was a pause, and then a second text. _Though my one friend who has Alzheimers is still sharp as a razor when lucid. Though frequently surprised I'm still alive._

Sharon sucked her teeth in sympathy and carefully eased herself into a different position. _Alzheimers is an awful thing. I have an aunt with it and she hasn't gotten my name right the last 2-3 times I've visited. And this was a woman who used to drive me to martial arts tournaments._

_That martial arts stuff is in these days, isn't it?_

_This was twenty years ago, but yes I believe it's still pretty popular. I liked it. Still do, when I'm mobile._

_I have friends who are into it. It's a big part of SpecOps training now. You any good?_

In one of her few nods to decorating, Sharon had a shelf display of her trophies and medals. It twinged her ribs something fierce, but she was able to stretch far enough to get a shot of it with her phone. Then she sent it to her new friend.

_Showoff. My proper retort will have to wait until I get home._

_Now I'm curious. Am I going to get a picture of medals? Drawings? Depressing photo memorial of all your dead friends?_

_I do not have a shrine to my team, thank you very much._ Pause. _I do have a lot of medals._

 _Displayed or shoved in a drawer?_ She knew guys - cops and military - that did both. It told you lot about how they felt about a guy.

_Boxed in the top of my closet._

Didn't surprise her a bit. _My captain at the precinct does that. One of these days they'll try to give him a commendation and he's gonna make a scene at the ceremony._

_I skipped a medal ceremony once during the war. They were pissed. But there was work to do. Going down to the subway._

_You and my cap would get along._ Her chest was starting to ache. Checking the time, she realized she was past due for her next pain med dose and was starting to feel it. _I'm taking my meds. If I don't reply to your next text I have passed out on the Vicodin._

There was no answer, and so she napped a bit. When she woke up, there was another message, displaying a pile of medals sprawled out on the top off a coffee table, like he'd just upended the box. She knew enough about the military to know then gave out a number of medals quite freely, so she had to look at the picture for a moment to pick out what she was seeing. Among the pile were more than one star—both bronze and silver, she assumed—and the immediately obvious purple heart. There was also a Distinguished Service Cross, which she only recognized because ten years ago she'd gone with Aunt Peggy to the ceremony where the military un-racist-ed itself enough to give a couple of retroactive medals to Jim Morita.

And upside down, in the top left corner, was a Congressional Medal of Honor.

Jesus Christ, how many tours had he done? And what they hell had he done _on_ them?

 _Apparently I was good at soldiering,_ was the only accompanying text.


	2. Chapter 2

The text exchanges became a regular occurrence. It was an odd sort of friendship they'd developed. But Steve liked it. Someone unconnected to his life, who didn't know who he was, yet he could be honest with. They hadn't exchanged names, and at this point it seemed awkward to ask. So the entry in Steve's phonebook was just 'Kid'.

He'd been in DC, testifying before congress on behalf of a VA funding bill. It was the sort of thing than engaged his temper, that this bullshit was still going on. War had taken his father, and the meager pension the army coughed up hadn't been enough for his mother to raise one child on, let alone women left with larger families. Now they were spending money that would make Tony Stark blush on fighter jets, but couldn't be bothered to provide adequate medical care to wounded veterans.

Politicians on the right, who'd assumed that because they'd laid exclusive claim on patriotism it meant they could claim him, had a nasty surprise that day. He'd made quite the spectacle on TV. It's not every day you get to tell the Speaker of the House that Eisenhower would be ashamed of him, and Patton would kick him in the teeth.

Afterwards he went visit Peggy, like he always did when he was in town. She was having one of her good days, and greeted him at the door with, "Patton _would_ kick him in the teeth."

Still, he felt nostalgic and morose on the train ride home. Sometimes he made jokes about how all his friends were dead, and sometimes it felt heartbreakingly real. He didn't remember the ice, so it hadn't even been a year, since he'd been fighting the Nazi's. Since Bucky had died.

He pulled out his phone. _You ever lose anybody in the line of duty?_

There was silence and he watched the scenery go by for a bit before the response came through. _Twice. Guy in my squad last year and the guy who trained me when I was a rookie about eighteen months before that. Anniversary?_

_The government is messing with VA funding. Brings back memories._

_Ah. Did you see Captain America talking to Congress? It was a thing of beauty._

Steve grinned, and felt guilty at the same time. _I did. Patton DID kick better men for lesser reasons._

_I may watch Patton later tonight, in honor of that. That was up there with Cap's anti-anti-vax rant on NPR a couple months back._

_Patton would definitely kick those people in the teeth. I've had Whooping Cough. And the entire contents of the MMR. It was terrible._

_You really are a tough cookie, aren't you? Did you walk to school uphill both ways in the snow, too?_

_I'm from Brooklyn, we don't have any hills._

_Snow, though._

_I'm sure you've noticed it does occasionally snow in New York_

_It has not escaped my notice. At least I don't have to shovel my walk._

He watched the landscape fly by outside the train window. _I'd just as soon have it never snow._

There was no way for the kid on the other end of the phone to understand everything that went into that wish. All the nightmares and demons that cold stirred in him. Still, when the phone buzzed in reply the response made him feel a bit better. _Gets in your bones, doesn't it? My mom says when I was three or four I thought the blanket of snow outside meant the world was ending. I think that fear still lives somewhere deep in my consciousness._

_I had some crappy experiences with cold back in the war. It stuck with me._

_My mom's dad was in the Pacific theater. He had some graphic stories about foot rot that still haunt me and my brothers._

Things like that made Steve glad he was never in the Pacific. _I could tell you plenty of stories that would haunt you._

_Would that make you feel better?_

_Not if it keeps you up at night._

_I've seen my own shit. Maybe not war, but I'm coming up on 10 years on the force. I know sometimes the inly way to settle your demons is to share them. So if you need that I can listen. Or read, as the case may be._

He stared at the phone for a moment. _You're a NY cop. Were you at the Battle?_

There was a lengthy pause. _Sorry, that topic required a drink. Yes, I was._

Steve wished he had one of his own. _War isn't much different. Fear, chaos, panic, screaming, death. Sometimes as far as the eye can see._

_Longest day of my life. And clean-up was almost as bad._

For a moment Steve wished he could be honest. That he had been honest. So he could commiserate in detail. _After is always the worst. And it's never the part they make movies about._

_We took shifts doing various things. Spent some time digging out buildings, some shuttling personnel around. The coroner's office had it rough, they were working 12+ hour shifts. Some of us took to bringing them coffee and donuts and stuff. Everyone thinks of cops and firefighters but there's a lot more that go into that sort of thing._

He remembered the aftermath. They'd tied up Loki and they'd gotten shawarma and then they'd kind of been at loose ends. He and Barton and Romanov had put on street clothes and gone down to help with the clean up. Mostly because Barton wanted to, but it had felt good to be anonymous, even if he had been very sore.

He'd dug out and carried bodies. All he could tell himself was that it would have been worse, if they hadn't been there. _Bravest people in any war, if you ask me, are the medics and chaplains and radio guys and CBs. They go into the same battlefield hell, and they do it unarmed._

_Amen to that, brother._

They sent messages back and forth most of his train ride. He snapped a picture of Penn Station when he got in, and sent it with a caption _Home Sweet Home_.

He got a photo back, of sunset behind the skyline from a roof deck. There was a beer being held up in toast, and the hand holding it had chipped nail polish on slender fingers.

His friend, apparently, was a girl.

*

Sharon got back on active duty just in time for a cold snap. The bitter air got through no matter how many layers she wore, making her recently broken ribs ache. She hid the stiffness, not wanting to hear the teasing, but everyday she looked forward to going home to her warm apartment and heating pad.

It was especially bad on stakeouts, sitting in a cramped car with a questionable heater. She sipped her coffee and pulled out her phone, keeping one eye on the building she was watching. _You were in the European theater,_ she sent to the Colonel. _What are the early signs of frostbite?_

 _Pain, then pins and needles, then numbness. Warming back up hurts more than the freezing did._ She liked that he replied immediately, with a reply that indicated he might have actually had frostbite.

_Still just cold. I guess my gloves will hold up a little bit longer._

_Rub your hands together. Friction makes heat._

She didn't actually think she was getting frostbite but she rubbed her hands together anyway. It was possible she'd need a gun later and having full feeling in her fingers was important for that sort of thing. _I hate stakeouts._

 _At least you're probably dry,_ he told her.

 _I am in a car. It is dry but not so much with the warm._ Lights came on in the apartment building she was watching and she paused to watch closer. No one came out her door and a couple back and forths on the radio confirmed the same in the back. _I'm almost off duty, though. This guy had about forty minutes to stick his neck out or someone far less pretty will arrest him._

_See? This is stuff we never had in the war. If you needed to stake something out, you could be laying in mud for two days with no relief._

Sharon chuckled. Sometimes he sounded just like Aunt Peggy. _What were you staking out? The mess tent?_ He seemed happy that while she was respectful, she didn't do a lot of hero worship about him being a vet. Anyone who kept his Medal of Honor in a shoebox didn't want to be idolized.

_Hey, sometimes they had real bacon, and you had to get in line fast._

_I would absolutely lay in mud for two days for real bacon._ This prompted him to launch into a story about one of his squad mates who had begun this elaborate series of black market bribes and favors in an attempt to get an actual steak. After the first few texts it started to sound familiar. When he started nearing the punchline blood started to roar in her ears because it was absolutely impossible for him to be telling her a Howling Commandos story. They were all dead. She'd attended Jim Morita's funeral herself. The only one left was Aunt Peggy.

And Captain America.

 _So in the end, a friend of ours with connections in the States managed to help us out, but my buddy had to be his servant for a month every time we were at base._ When Peggy told that part it had usually been with an exasperated laugh at the antics of men. But it had always ended the same way, with Dugan ironing Howard Stark's shirts for him.

Holy shit, was she seriously texting Captain America?

She supposed it _could_ be he was just repeating a story someone had told him, as if it were his own. Maybe he'd known the Commandos back in the day.

In any case he was probably waiting for a response and asking him if he was Steve Rogers probably wasn't it. _Sounds like entertainment for the rest of you. Was a French maid outfit involved?_

_Ironing. Fancy french shirts that were extra fancy because they could no longer be bought, war and all. Guy was kind of a lunkhead. The ironer. We had to teach him now._

That was one of those details that probably wouldn't have made it in a casual retelling. Still, she could be seeing what she wanted to see. _Good guy, though?_ Peggy had talked fondly of Dugan, though she'd agree with the lunkhead assessment.

 _The best. They all were. Even the guy with the fancy shirts. Mostly._

She smiled. His fondness for his guys came through even in the text. 

Her watch beeped, indicating the end of her shift. She picked up the radio to make sure her replacement was there, then started her car up, driving away. She stopped to pick up some dinner before heading home. 

She pulled up her text messages, intending to tell him she was home safe, but found herself bringing up the picture he'd sent her of his medals. Opening her laptop, she pulled up Captain America's wikipedia page and started going down the list of awarded medals. The list was spot on, and reading it she learned that given how _many_ there were, she was either talking to Steve Rogers, or the reincarnated ghost of Audie Murphy.

Later, she would try to figure out the fucking odds of him getting her as a wrong number, out of all the people in the city. For now she scrolled down to the end of their conversation and typed. _Home safe and warm. No thrilling chase scene for me tonight._

_I'd hate for you to break more ribs._

_Be pretty sure I was cursed if that happened._

_Might make me a chauvinist, but for the moment I'm happy you're home safe._ Before she could process the fact that he apparently knew she was a woman, he added, _Also I am from a different era. And, actually, the most surprising ass-kicking I ever received was from a woman. So don't take that the wrong way._

That had to be Peggy. This probably would be the time to tell him she was on to him. But she suspected he'd mislead her on purpose. Based on what she knew of him and the stories she'd heard, he probably liked having someone to be normal with. The Colonel was rather larger than life, but he wasn't Captain America. He could tell her stories without it becoming historically significant.

That didn't mean she couldn't mess with him a little bit.

_Sounds like my kind of lady. Maybe she was an ancestor of mine._

_You know what, kid? That wouldn't surprise me. Toughest woman I ever met. She shot at me once, too._

Oh, this was going to be fun. _Good God man, what did you do to her?_

 _I kissed another woman. Well, the woman kissed me. I didn't even know her._

That was not a story she had heard before, though it totally fit with what she knew of Peggy. The woman had helped Sharon formulate proper revenge on her high school boyfriend when he'd cheated on her during the summer. _What happened with her?_ she asked, honestly curious.

The reply took a bit, perhaps because he was deciding what to say. _Nothing much more. I suppose that killed whatever we could have been. That and we were all busy fighting. She kissed me goodbye. She married someone else after the war. Didn't see her again for many, many years. She's still alive, but she's sick. Sometimes she still thinks it's 1945, and I owe her a dance._

Sharon remembered Peggy referring to Steve as her greatest "might-have-been." Seemed to be about where he had settled, as well. It was sad, and often made into more than it was. Sondheim should write a musical about it. 

_I'm sorry it doesn't have a happier ending._ she told him.

_Not everything does, does it?_

_Well, no. But there's a big difference between "things didn't work out" unhappy and "makes me want to listen to the soundtrack of Follies and cry into my curry" unhappy._

_I have never cried into my curry, thankyouverymuch._

_I'll be sure to get that as your epitaph._

_I'm not inviting you to my funeral._ Oddly enough, someone mentioning funerals recently had made her contemplate asking him who he was. Back when she thought he was really old, she'd have wanted to go to his funeral.

Now that she knew he was hale and hearty she felt comfortable teasing, Gonna be an awful sparse affair then, what with all your other friends proceeding you.

_I'll be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled off the Brooklyn Bridge._

_Probably make a little clean spot in the water._

He sent an emoji of the smiley face sticking out its tongue. _You should see how dirty the East River used to be._

Captain America used emojis. This was very important information. _Am I gonna get some old timey Brooklyn stories?_

_During the Depression my best friend and I had a kind of a routine where we scammed food from the butcher and fishmonger._

_Colonel! I am SHOCKED._

_Would now be a bad time to tell you I lied on my enlistment forms, too?_

That was in the Smithsonian exhibit. _I think that's pretty common. I had a friend whose granddad memorized the eye chart to get past._

 _We all wanted to fight. Seemed wrong not to. My best friend was going, and I wanted us to go together._ The next message was right on its heels. _Came home without him, though._

Sharon thought of the pictures of Bucky Barnes on the walls of the Smithsonian. And his name on the wall of fallen at the SHIELD office Peggy had taken her to a few times. _I'm sorry,_ she typed, knowing it was inadequate. _It's always hard to lose a friend._

_War is actual, biblical hell._

_I believe that._

_Sorry for the depressing turn in conversation._

_It's all right._ She thought of the cold snap, and his talk of hating snow, and his time on the ice and added, _Weather bothering your old bones?_

_This time of year I really consider moving to Florida like every other retiree. Then I remember, all the old people are in Florida._

And then the urge to mess with him returned. _Aww, big war hero like you, I bet you're a hit with the ladies._

_God. Do not even bring that up._

_Beating them off with your cane, huh?_

_Well... It's complicated._ She imagined it was. Steve Rogers probably did get an uncomfortable number of women hitting on him. But he couldn't exactly mention that knowing she thought he looked as old as he was.

She considered and discarded several jokes about little blue pills and blow jobs without dentures and settled on the truth. _I worry you're lonely._

There was a long pause before he replied. _Same to you. Would we be having long personal conversations via text with a stranger if we had active social lives? Or am I wrong?_

Sharon glanced over at her half eaten Indian take-out and healthy Netflix queue. _You have a point,_ she conceded. 

_So we know why I'm like this. What's your excuse?_

That was a really good question. She blew out her breath and got up to get herself a beer before settling back on the couch. _My whole family is in DC. All of them. Like there might be some sort of curse keeping them in the confines of DC/VA. Mom's a lawyer, Dad's and engineer. So whenI wanted to do something blue collar and in a different metropolitan area it was important to me that I succeed. Not just be good at my job and enjoy it but fucking crush it. So for the last ten years I've been all work all the time. Late shifts, double shifts, all hours. Only so many drinks with friends or blind dates you can blow off before people stop asking._

_Here we are then. Two lonely workaholics bullshitting the night away in the most commitment free manner humanly possible._

_Guess I'm lucky you dialed that number wrong that one time,_ she typed in, rather depressed at how true it was.

_You know, it really was._

Well, she'd long since come to terms with the fact her best friend was an anonymous, old vet on the other side of a phone screen. _Have a good night, Colonel. Stay warm._


	3. Chapter 3

"I have a problem," Steve said, chewing on his pizza. Across from him, Sam raised an eyebrow. "It might be a woman problem."

Sam swallowed hard and sipped his drink. "You know a woman?"

Steve glared at him. "I know _plenty_ of women."

"You know a woman well enough to have a woman problem?"

He sighed. "Do you remember when we met at Famous Nick's, and I went to the wrong one?"

Sam frowned over it a moment. "That was over the summer, yeah?"

"I had my new phone and hadn't updated the contacts yet. So I texted someone whose number is one digit off from yours. Turned out to belong to a cop uptown.” He pointed in the general direction of north. "We got to chatting and just. . . kept doing so."

"Does she know who you are?"

"No. And she thinks I'm my actual age. It was quite a while before I figured out it was a woman. I thought it was just some young guy and we were bullshitting. It was nice to be honest, and it's next to impossible for me to talk about my past without first making a spectacle of myself. It was nice. It was anonymous."

He nodded and took a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay. So you've been doing this for months now, seem happy with it and the lady is none the wiser. What's the problem?"

"Well, for one, I don't like having to lie. Like if she asks me something about decades I missed, like the '60's. And we're friends. I'd like to be actual friends in person. Buy her coffee. Cry into our curry together. Etc."

"So you're thinking of coming clean?" Steve nodded. "She's not gonna believe you without meeting you."

"I'm concerned she'd going to think I'm an asshole who lied to her."

"She might. Or she might give you a chance to explain. I'm just saying you can't text her one day and say 'Hey, I'm really Captain America.' She's going to think you've gone senile."

He picked at his pizza. "Got any suggestions?"

"Has she expressed any interest in meeting?"

He shook his head. "It's never come up. Part of that is probably my fault."

Sam finished his slice, apparently thinking it over. When he was done he leaned back in his seat, wiping his hands. "If you're serious about it, feel her out about meeting. If she's receptive, maybe hint that there's some stuff you were less than truthful about but you'd like the chance to explain in person."

"Won't she want to meet in public? Leading to possibly a messy scene in public? Which will probably end up the internet because I'm kind of famous?"

"There's a lot of places that are public that she probably wouldn't make a scene. Or pick somewhere they know you and you can kind of control the circumstances, like that gym you like."

"That's not a bad idea. At least if she punches me, it'll fit the atmosphere."

Sam shrugged. "There you go. It's a good casual first date, too, if you're both athletic people."

His smile was probably entirely too fond. "We are. Even when we shouldn't be."

That got him an arched brow because Sam likely knew exactly what he meant. "I'm beginning to worry this girl is going to be a bad influence on you."

"Just be happy I'm making friends."

"Oh, I am. A lady friend, no less. Even if it is in the weirdest way possible."

That night, it took Steve an embarrassing amount of time to work up the nerve to text her. _Do you think it's weird we've been talking all these months and don't actually know who the other is?_

_I think it's a bit odd, yes. I'm having a hard time referencing you to coworkers. This old dude I talk to on my phone said. . ._

_Just a voice in the darkness._

_Words on a tiny little screen._ A moment later another sentence appeared. _Is this the prelude to you suggesting we do something about that?_

_Yes._ He hesitated, then added. _Though it comes with a confession that may, possibly, torpedo this whole thing._

There was silence and he closed his eyes, pretty sure this was over before he'd started. Then the phone buzzed. _Is it that you're Captain America? 'Cause I know that._

Steve dropped his phone. When he picked it up, he stared at it for a moment, and then did the first thing that popped into his head, which was to dial the phone number he'd been texting.

It rang three times. He imagined she was sitting there staring at it. Then there was a quiet click and a woman's voice. "Hello Colonel."

It was strange to actually hear her voice. "Hi. Did you Detective me?"

She chuckled. "Oh, I'd really like to let you believe I'm that good but, no. I have a confession of my own." She cleared her throat. "You told me a story my aunt told me when I was a kid."

He had only told her stories specifically _not_ associated with Captain America. Things that never made the history books. There were a very limited number of people who would—

Steve cleared his throat. "Was your aunt a witness to said story, or was she told it by her husband or father?"

"She was there." Her voice was sympathetic.

He laughed at the bizarreness of it. "You're a Carter."

"Sharon Carter, to be precise. My dad is her brother's youngest. She used to watch me a couple times a week when my parents worked late."

"Steve Rogers," he said. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." There was a smile in her voice now. "So. You still want to meet in person?"

"Are you kidding? Absolutely."

"Well, all right then. What did you have in mind?"

"Pizza at Authentic Famous Nick's is the first thing that comes to mind."

She laughed brightly. "You're on. Tomorrow?"

"Sounds perfect." He leaned back on his couch. "Was it the story about her shooting at me?"

"No, actually. Dum Dum being Howard's servant."

He laughed. "She was particularly amused by that one. He did get steak, though."

"I think it was originally part of a lecture on being careful what you wish for. She liked to give a lot of her stories morals, pretend they were educational and all that."

"I was probably fodder for a lot of educational tales."

"You were the source of a lot of safety lectures," she confirmed. "And a few standing up for what was right ones."

"I'm sorry I lied to you," he said. "I just liked being able to be myself."

"I figured it was something like that. Must be hard to be honest with people without getting overwhelmed."

He sighed, studying the cracks in his ceiling. "Hence why I don't have a lot of friends. That aren't dead, anyway."

"Well, hey. You've got me. And you even know my real name now."

"And I can still be honest with you?" He really did like the sound of her voice.

"I insist you do. Or I'll have to start being bad cop and picking holes in your stories."

He went into his kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, balancing the phone against his shoulder. "I want to go back and amend some of the stories. . . details were left out to protect the innocent."

"Well, once I sorted out who you were a few of them made more sense. Though I guess now I get access to the whole database."

"That's a statement that makes me think you have a specific query."

There was a pause and he heard rustling. Maybe she was getting a snack as well. "Several, actually, but the first thing that comes to mind is: you jumped out of a fucking plane?"

"Come on now. The war was full of paratroopers."

"Did they all jump with a witty quip and no parachute?"

"Okay, I only did it once with no chute, and that was over water. If you were hearing it from Peggy, and it involved a quip, I definitely had a parachute." Honestly compelled him to add, "Which, granted, I'd never used before."

She laughed. He really liked her laugh. "She was well into her sixties at this point, maybe she was getting her stories crossed."

"I did a lot of reckless things, but she wasn't exactly Madam Caution, either."

"Oh, but see, when she tells them she always had perfectly good reasons for doing stupid things."

"Well so did I, of course." He finished his coffee and put the cup in the sink. "Except crashing in the arctic. That was pure blind grief." 

"For Barnes." He rather liked that it wasn't a question. "That must still be fresh. You've only been out of the ice, what? A year?"

"Two weeks before the Battle of New York." 

She hissed in a breath like she'd hurt herself. "Jesus. You've had a time."

That was the understatement of the century. "They wanted me to join SHIELD. After. But I was just done. I had nothing left, you know?"

"No, yeah. You earned your retirement, that's for damn sure." She paused, then added, "I thought about joining SHIELD. Before going with the police academy."

"Wanted to escape the legacy?"

"Yeah. Wasn't really a shadow I was interested in living in."

"I don't blame you." He stretched back out on his couch, getting comfortable. "So tell me what you do like about being a cop."

"Hmm. Putting bad guys away does have a certain visceral charm. I like most of the guys I work with. There's a certain camaraderie that comes with the job. The feeling of being on a team or having an extended family. And sometimes there's positive moments with the public. After the Battle I met a lot of nice people. And kids used to come up to me a lot when I was in uniform, I think 'cause I was a woman and I seemed safe. I've been making noise about starting up some sort of self defense or danger awareness program to take to schools but haven't found the right ear to bend yet."

"And now you know someone who can bend all sorts of ears."

"I would never abuse out friendship in that way," she said with enough sincerity he actually believed her.

"You don't have to. I find the cause of self defense for kids in dangerous situations very worthy."

He could hear a smile in her voice. "Yes, I suppose you would. All right, feel free to bend. Just make sure to tell them it was my idea."

They talked about police work. They talked about the war. They talked about the battle they'd both been at and still had nightmares about. Sometimes they fell silent, drifting, until someone picked up the thread again. They filled in a thousand details. Neither of them wanted to hang up. They talked until dawn began to lighten the sky.

Sharon yawned. "I don't remember the last time I stayed up all night just talking to someone."

"We should get breakfast," Steve said, because his stomach was rumbling, and he still didn't want to let her go just yet.

After a pause in which he was suddenly afraid that was pushing too far, she said, "You know Eggs and More on 33rd?"

He grinned. "Meet you there?"

"I'll race ya."

*

Sharon was kind of a poor race participant. She was pretty sure Steve Rogers rolled out of bed looking gorgeous, and newsreels of him in the muck on the front lines seemed to bear that out. So he'd have gone right out the door. She gave up five minutes so she could brush her teeth and put on real pants and a bra.

The diner was only a few blocks away, but it was still early enough the sunlight only made things chillier. She hustled the last few yards, eager to get into the warmth of the restaurant. When she got there it was only half full and he was easy to spot, staked out at a booth on the far side, hidden behind a Brooklyn hat and sunglasses. That jawline was hard to miss, though.

She crossed the room, peeling off her gloves and hat and sat in the booth across from him. "Hello."

He pulled off his sunglasses and she could better see his face. He was, in fact, just as good looking in person. But the slightly crooked, disarming smile he gave her was one she'd never seen on TV.

_There are so few actual pictures of Steve,_ Aunt Peggy had told her once. Now she knew exactly what she'd meant. There were dozens - maybe hundreds - of pictures of Captain America. But Steve Rogers, he didn't show his face much.

"Am I what you expected?" she asked, mostly to prevent herself from _telling_ him he looked better than he did on TV.

"You're beautiful," he replied. "And it wouldn't have been really weird if you looked like her, so I'm glad you don't."

And here she'd debated warning him she didn't in case he was disappointed. She finished peeling off her winter outer wear as the waitress came by and dropped off a coffee carafe and two cups. "Ah, lifeblood."

"Am I what you expected?" he asked in return.

She grinned. "Well, you look pretty good for ninety."

"I'm 94. Technically."

"And still so active!"

His smile widened. "Oh, good. I was hoping the old man jokes would continue."

"I think they'll only get funnier." She poured herself some coffee, then fill his cup. "Can I still call you Colonel now and then?"

"You can do it all you want. The retroactively auto-promoted me. I really am a Colonel."

"I like nicknames," she told him. "And it's what I've been thinking of you as for a long time."

"I am sorry for deceiving you," he said. "Though the lie of omission was the only one I told. I'm probably more honest with you than just about anyone."

She shrugged. "There was no reason to tell me the first time or two we talked. And after that it just would have been awkward and I wouldn't have believed you. It's done with, you don't have to keep apologizing."

He nodded. "Okay."

A waitress wandered over to take their order. Steve cheerfully ordered eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, french toast, and two different kinds of potatoes. The woman wrote it all down, then looked over at Sharon and arched her brows. "Eggs Benedict, hash browns." 

She looked over at Steve when the waitress had gone. "She mentioned the appetite."

"I got small-team field rations. They were meant for 4 people. As a consequence, I always had more condoms and cigarettes than anyone, which were excellent for bartering for more food if I was still hungry."

"I have a mental image of you sitting in a pile of cigarettes and foil packets." She sipped her coffee. "It delights me."

"You know I had a doctor tell me once, before the serum, that I should take up smoking. It would help 'toughen up' my lungs."

"Oh my God. Did you get the opium cough syrup?"

"I got cough syrup that made my hallucinate I was a member of the Zigfield Follies."

She propped her chin in her hand. "I'm going to need more precise description of these hallucinations. Feel free to add drawings."

"I need some more food and coffee in my stomach first."

One would think, after talking literally all night, they wouldn't have more to say to each other. But they kept up a conversation that was lively and funny. He told her all manner of stories about his childhood and she returned the favor. They both had a penchant for fighting bullies and tales of their best routs got them through at least two courses of his food.

"Funny how nobody wants to fight when I tell them to stop being a jerk now."

She had slowly been moving one hand closer to his plate in an effort to steal some bacon. As she spoke she snagged a piece. "There's something to be said for intimidated obedience."

He shook his head, and put a couple pieces on her plate. "Probably for the best, given how hard I punch."

"Mmm, that reminds me. We should go to Fogwells together sometime. That place sounds like my cup of tea."

Steve looked delighted. "I would love to box with you."

"Excellent." She sucked bacon grease off her thumb and noticed his eyes linger on her mouth a moment. "So. What should we do with the rest of our day? I seem to recall we have a lunch date, but that's hours away."

"In my youth I'd have send a movie, but they don't run them this early. Though, now you can run them all you want in your own living room."

"My apartment is just a couple blocks away," she said before she should think better of it. "I probably even have a movie from your youth we could watch."

The grin she got in reply was worth it. "Sounds like a great idea."

He paid the waitress despite Sharon making a valiant effort to go dutch. They both bundled back up and ventured into the cold. It felt perfectly natural to wrap her gloved hand around his. It was hard to shake the feeling that this was a date, but she didn't really mind.

Her neighbor, Mrs. Giordani, was 85 if she was a day, and was coming out of her apartment as they passed by. She stared at Steve, and Sharon braced herself for him to get stopped and both of them to be trapped in an awkward hallway conversation. Mrs. Giordani liked to yak. But when Sharon glanced at the old woman while unlocking the door, she just pointed to Steve and gave her a thumbs up.

Grinning, she waved a little at the other woman and opened the door, ushering him inside.

Inside was mercifully tidy. She knew from their chats he was a painfully neat kind of guy. She had cleaned up her dinner dishes before their marathon call the night before, so the only thing resembling a mess was her pile of couch blankets.

He glanced around with obvious interest, taking in her trophy shelf and the wall of pictures of her family and various shots of the city. Her bookshelf was overstuffed, paperbacks and unread hardcovers shoved in at odd angles. "Nice place," he said sincerely.

"Thanks," she said, feeling herself relax a little. "Have a seat, we can pull up Netflix."

He kicked his shoes off and regarded her couch, a cushy sectional that could be rearranged into whatever configuration suited her. It had been an ungodly splurge, but she loved it. "Looks comfy. He moved pieces so they could both put their feet up, before making himself a spot in her blanket nest.

She puttered about putting the chain on the door and closing the blinds so there wouldn't be a glare on her TV. Then she unearthed the remote and flopped down next to him. "Share," she said, tugging her favorite blanket. He tossed half of it over her, leaving her leg pressed against his. She settled it around her lap and turned the TV on. "Something black-and-white? Modern?"

"I have been working my way through a list of movies people keep telling me I need to see." He dug in his pocket, and pulled out a little notebook. He opened it and handed it over. "Anything from the list not crossed out appeal?"

Scanning it, she felt her brows raise. "Whoever told you to watch _Oldboy_ is not your friend."

He leaned over. "Oh, the ones marked with a little circle came from Tony Stark. I can't tell if he's just fucking with me or has strange taste. It really could be either, or both."

She shook her head. " _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ is good. I think I actually own it so we don't have to depend on Netflix."

"Sounds good to me."

She pulled it up and started it. Then she tugged over a couple of her couch pillows and got comfortable, leaning on his arm.

It was dim and cozy in there. Steve murmured historically relevant comments about government stooges back in the day, and what Nazi's were like, and the rumble of his voice and the warmth of his body lulled her into exhaustion. Both of them were out before Indy shot the swordsman.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve had surprisingly peaceful dreams, and woke up with Sharon tucked against him. Their legs were tangled, one arm was flung over his chest, and he could feel her breath on his neck. The movie was long over, but he couldn't tell what time it was because she had room darkening blinds.

Her couch really was amazingly comfortable.

He stayed still a few minutes, listening to her breathe and soaking in the peaceful quiet of the room. It had been a very long time since he'd slept that well. Especially somewhere strange and in the middle of the day.

When it was clear he wasn't going back to sleep he carefully started to reach across her to grab the remote. Her arm tightened on him and she grumbled, "Good pillows don't move."

"I never claimed to be a good pillow," he replied.

She sighed and cuddled closer to him. "Your just woke up voice is even sexier than your normal voice."

He chuckled. "My voice is completely normal."

"Mm, keep telling yourself that." She straightened, lifting her head off his shoulder. He immediately missed the weight. She yawned and stretched, then rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair before giving him an adorably sleepy smile. 

He reached up and stroked her hair, brushing a lock of her forehead. "I don't remember the last time I woken up to something this nice."

The smile widened. "Me too." She spread her hand on his chest and rubbed lightly, back and forth. "I'm glad we took this into the real world. Not just texting."

He closed his other hand over hers. "Me too."

She studied him a moment, eyes darting back and forth slightly, as if she was trying to take everything in at once. Then she leaned closer and kissed him. He sighed, meeting the kiss, letting his hand sink into her hair so he could hold her to him. With a soft sound, she melted into him, sliding her arms around his neck. She was a warm, soft weight against his chest.

From the time he noticed her painted fingernails, he'd wondered if she was pretty. He wondered if he'd be attracted to her. If they'd have any chemistry. If they'd _want_ each other. The answer seemed to be a resounding yes. 

He shifted her so she was a little on top of him, just so he could hold her better, and run his hands over her skin. They had sort of just met. They should stop. But he couldn't quite bring himself to.

The hem of her shirt had ridden up and he was able to flatten a palm on the soft skin of her lower back. The touch earned him a little moan and she arched against him, pressing their bodies together in a way that sent heat through him. She tilted her head to kiss him at a different angle and he moved with her, easy and instinctive. Like they'd been doing this for ages. He wondered if everything with her would be that simple and natural. If their bodies would understand each other the way their minds certainly did.

As if sensing the path his thoughts were taking she lifted her mouth enough to whisper, "Wait."

He pulled back. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—" Why he was apologizing when she'd kissed him, he didn't know.

"No. No. Shut up." She gave him a little reassuring peck. "I'm just - I have morning mouth and bedhead and these jeans are like three days old. If we're gonna get naked I'm gonna shave my legs and have matching underwear and perfume on."

"I think you look gorgeous, and I don't care about your legs." He paused. "I'm not saying that just because I want to get in your pants." Which he very much did, even if he was also aware this was rather fast.

She groaned a little and kissed him again, getting lost in it for a few moments. "Okay," she murmured. "But wouldn't you rather get into my sexy red dress? With a lace bra and possibly a garter and stockings underneath it?"

He watched her face. "I hope is isn't going to be just the once," he said quietly, not sure if that was somehow assuming too much.

Her expression softened and she stroked his hair gently. "No. I hope it's more than just the once, too. I guess I just. . . want a little prep time. There's a lot of history going into this."

"This, whatever it is, has _nothing_ to do with your aunt."

She shifted a little and he could tell, just from the line of her body, that that had been weighing on her. "Well, good. Like I said, that's not a shadow I want to live in."

"You are something else entirely. And I would love to see you in that dress."

She grinned. "So, change our lunch plans to dinner plans?"

"Seems like a good idea. Since I think we slept through lunch." He pulled her in to kiss her again. "Somewhere nicer than pizza."

"But not so fancy it'll take all night."

He shifted her off him and sat up. "I have my work cut out for me."

"You want to text me when you find some place?"

"Yes." He looked around. "We'll go to my place after. Not because there's anything wrong here, but because I know you well enough I'm pretty convinced you'll spend the next hour panic cleaning your bedroom, and I'd rather you save your energy."

With a vaguely guilty look around she asked, "Not clean enough, huh?"

"I think it's fine. I'm neat out of habit, not compulsion."

She looked skeptical, but she leaned in to kiss him. "Your place it is."

"Shall we aim for 8?"

"Sounds perfect."

That evening, reservations made, he picked her up in a taxi. Somehow he didn't think she'd want to ride on his motorcycle, and nobody wants to go on a date on the subway.

The dress was everything he'd imagined and more. Blood red, with a sweetheart neckline and a snug waistline. Her stockings were black and looked like real silk, ending in heels the same color as the dress. Her hair hung in loose waves past her shoulders. She looked like the femme fatale in every double feature he ever sat through.

It had seemed an occasion for a suit—though the rules about that had changed a lot while he was in the ice—and seeing her he knew he'd been right. "You look amazing."

"Thank you." She stepped forward and kissed him. With the heels, she was the perfect height for it. "You're very handsome."

He gestured to the cab. "Shall we?"

"Absolutely." She tucked a clutch purse under her arm and curled her other hand around his bicep. He led her to the curb and held the door open for her.

In the car he tangled their fingers together. It was crazy that 24 hours ago he didn't even know what her name was. It was still probably too fast. But it was also as alive as he'd felt since he'd thawed.

He held the door again when they arrived at the restaurant, to her obvious delight. And Sam said women got insulted by chivalry now. The hostess looked a little starstruck when she saw him - he'd had to name drop a little to get a table on short notice - but she didn't say anything, just showing them to a candlelit table near the windows. She beamed at him, and he felt proud he seemed to be managing this date thing so far. The last time he was on a date was the very awkward double date with Bucky the night he managed to sign up for the army.

_This_ woman he had no intention of ditching halfway through.

They ordered an appetizer and wine and picked up conversation with ease, this time about her family. He knew a bit about them from their texts, but now she filled in the details of growing up with two older brothers who were now both married and producing her nieces and nephews.

"I always thought after the war I'd have a family," he told her. "Fate doesn't always cooperate, though."

Sharon swirled her wine in her glass. "I was always sort of ambivalent about settling down. I love my niece and nephews, but. . . I don't know. That work-life balance thing never seems to work out for the woman."

"The world has changed a lot while I was under. You can have whatever type of life you want, really."

"In theory, sure. But my current life wouldn't be particularly kid friendly. I'd have to make some serious decisions about my career." She shrugged. "Always been sort of a moot point, since I couldn't be bothered to date."

He reached for her hand. "I'm pleased to be the exception."

She smiled and turned her hand over, weaving their fingers together again. "Well, for the right person, exceptions must be made."

They held hands until their dinner came. He'd only ordered one entree, though it was the biggest steak on the menu. He could snack later. She had a seafood pasta dish that she gamely let him steal a few bites of.

She let him get more than 2/3 of the way through his steak before she started to play footsie.

He raised his eyes to hers. "If you don't think Captain America would dine and dash you'd be mistaken."

Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and she grinned. "If you think a cop can't have a thing for bad boys, you'd be mistaken."

"The statute of limitations on my crimes have long since passed." He pointed his fork at her. "Eat. Quickly."

She stabbed a piece of shrimp with her fork and managed to look smug while she chewed it. He asked for the check without even glancing at the dessert menu and to his relief she more or less kept her hands to herself as he paid. 

He offered her his arm. They stood at the curb, and then stretched their arms so they didn't have to lose the connection when he stepped out to hail the cab. He held the door for her to go first, then climbed in himself, giving the driver his address.

Conversation in a cab was always kind of awkward. Right now, he was having trouble of thinking of anything casual to talk about. Her skirt had ridden up when she'd climbed in and he could see the lace at the top of her stocking and hints of pale skin above it. 

By the amused look on her face, she'd noticed him staring at it. But when he looked up at her, the smile died and her eyes darkened. She licked her lips nervously and twitched her skirt, exposing more creamy skin and the dark ribbon of her garter. He swallowed, and was so grateful the cab stopped right then. He tossed a twenty at the driver and hussled her out of the cab.

Steve lived on the top floor of a walkup, and tonight he wished for an elevator for the first time since the day he moved in. She proceeded him up the stairs and her heavy winter coat covered her more interesting curves. Still, in his current state, even the flashes of calf he got were enough to prod her along.

She was out of breath and flushed when they reached his door, though he doubted that was from the stairs. He backed her against it so he could kiss her, sliding one hand under her coat, and using the other to unlock his door. He fumbled it a bit, distracted as he was with the kiss and the feel of her under his hand. He was seriously considering just kicking the door down when he finally got it turned the right way and shoved the door open.

They danced inside and he slammed it shut behind him before turning them to press her against it again. Sharon moaned into his mouth, lift her leg to slide it against his. He got the coat all the way open, and all the way off, pulling her forward a little so it could drop to the floor. He shrugged off his own coat, and the suit jacket while he was at it. Her hands roamed his back and shoulders, then tucked between them to tug at his tie. He leaned back a little so she could have better access and they ended up breaking the kiss. 

Her eyes were dark and heavy lidded and she held his gaze as she slowly loosened and undid his tie, letting it flutter on top of his jacket. A slow, almost challenging smile curved her mouth - now red and swollen from their kisses - as she popped open one button, then the next.

He was surprised how hot he found just watching her fingers work down the row of buttons. A step closer to her touching his skin, he supposed, and anticipation always made things sharper. She pulled the shirt from his belt and sent it to the pile, then tugged his undershirt out of his waistband.

When she tugged harder he lifted his arms and let her pull it off so he was naked to the waist. She leaned back a little, just drinking him in. Before it could make him nervous she spread both hands on his chest and stroked the skin, sliding them down his abs, then around his waist. Leaning in, she kissed his chest, light, random presses of her mouth. She slowly worked her way up, until her teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot on his throat at the same moment her nails traced his spine. The dual sensations made him shudder.

He had rather mixed feelings about this perfect-looking body he'd acquired. Sometimes it felt like he was inhabiting someone else, or that it was the only thing about him anyone ever noticed. But right now it seemed to make her happy, and that made him happy. 

He held her lightly as she continued her exploration. The thought that this was too early, too fast still nagged at him. But on the other hand, he'd known her for months. Knew her better than just about anyone alive today. She certainly knew him better than anyone had since Bucky. And everything, from talking to her, to sleeping curled up on her couch, to the way she felt in his arms just felt right.

Her mouth caught his in a deep, explicit kiss, and he tightened his arms, getting lost in it. Her hands left him and he felt her arch. Then he heard the soft, distinctive sound of a zipper being lowered. He reached blindly, finding the gap along her back she was opening and helping her pull the sides of the dress apart. He had to be careful to temper his strength, because he had the sudden urge to rip it, and that was the sort of thing that might freak a girl out. 

She let her arms drop and the dress slid down, pooling at her feet. It left her in a black bra, matching underwear and the garter belt and stockings. She looked like a pin-up, too beautiful to be real.

"You know what?" he whispered, lifting one hand to trace the top edge of her bra. "This was worth the wait."

She grinned and he saw goosebumps raise on her skin. "Good."

"Can I take it off?" They were getting now into actual nudity. It seemed polite to check in. With a little laugh, she nodded. He fumbled with the hooks in the back, surprised at how hard it was. This was not exactly advanced technology. "All right. Help or turn around."

Laughing harder, she turned. "Push together, then apart."

"Thank you," he told her, getting it unhooked now that he could see it. "I figured out Hydra technology," he muttered. "And how to operate those card feeder turnstiles on the subway." 

"It's okay. Bra technology stumps even modern men."

"What's tragic is I don't think it's changed much." He slid the straps down her arms and let it fall. There were little red marks around her ribcage where it had dug in and he trailed his fingers over them until she turned to face him again. The line ran around under the swell of her breast. For a moment she fidgeted, looking almost shy. "God, you are gorgeous." He reached out, cupping both of her breasts in his palms. They fit easily, his hand all but dwarfing the globe. Her nipples pressed hot and tight on his skin.

Sharon sighed softly, arching into his touch. He smiled and bent down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing close to him again. "Not that I'm complaining," she murmured on his mouth. "But are you going to fuck me against the door?"

A shudder passed through him, and he lifted his head just to stare at her. But right now was not the time for nerves. "Next time," he told her, and then he lifted her up into his arms.

She squeaked in surprise and held on, kissing his throat again as he carried her through the apartment towards his bedroom. Carrying her like this he was aware of the silk of her stockings, the hard plastic of the garter buttons and the hard muscle that lay just under her soft skin.

Yeah, she'd be awfully fun to spar with.

He set her down beside the bed, and resumed kissing her. "Better?"

"Mmm. Much." Her hands tugged his belt open and let it gape before sliding the button and hook open on his fly. She did it all without looking, focused entirely on kissing him. Her hand started to slide in, then she paused and whispered, "Okay?" against his mouth. 

"No, I was planning on doing this with my pants on," he teased, if only to keep his brain working.

She gave a crooked grin. "Kinky." Then the hand moved, blatantly cupping his erection where it strained against his boxers. Her brow quirked and she watched his face as she stroked and explored him. Slowly, she lowered herself to sit on the bed, then released him to use both hands to tug down his shorts and slacks. Watching her hands do that was better than the buttons.

Her fingertips trailed back up his legs, distractingly light. She was still watching his face as she leaned in and kissed the tip of his cock then slowly took him into her mouth.

"Fuck," he gasped, tugging on hair so hard it probably hurt. The smack on the wrist he received bore that out, and he forced his grip looser. But that felt unbelievably good. She moved down his length then back up, tongue stroking and curling around him. For a few harsh breaths all he could do was tip his head back and focus on not coming right then and there. Once he found his self-restraint he managed to tip his head down to watch.

And found her looking up at him. Her eyes twinkled a bit when she saw him and she winked, before closing her eyes and redoubling her efforts.

It was absolutely more than he could take. "Sharon, I—you have—you have to stop," he managed to grind out.

She released him, dropping a little kiss on his thigh. "You make great faces."

"You give great blowjobs," he replied, because his higher brain functions weren't really working any more, so his first thought came directly out of his mouth.

Laughing, she braced herself on the bed and scooted back, stretching out in all her mostly-naked glory. "You should see my big finish."

He swallowed, his eyes roaming her. "Next time."

"Next time sounds like a lot of fun."

He sat so he could actually take his pants and shoes off. He nodded his head towards the nightstand on the other side of the bed. "Condoms are in the drawer."

She rolled to dig in the nightstand while he dealt with the last of his clothes. When she turned back to him she held the little foil square up triumphantly before tearing it open. She pulled out the condom and scooted closer to put it on. "I tried to do this with my mouth once. Was not as much fun as advertised."

This, now, was officially the most interesting thing he'd watched her hands do. "Mmmhmm," was all he could manage. When he was fully sheathed she stroked his length, light and teasing.

"Do you want me to keep the garters on?" she asked.

He reached down to stroke her thigh above the top of the stocking. "Yes." He traced the line of the garter up to the belt. Her tiny, lacy underpants had little ties on them, so he could get them off without removing anything else. He peeled them off, and then dipped his hand between her legs.

She was wet, folds of her sex swollen and slick under his fingers. At his first touch she shuddered and arched, so he repeated it, parting her to explore further. "Show me what feels good. What you like."

Her hand snaked down and covered his. She guided two fingers to flank her clit and pressed firmly, stroking back and forth. He repeated the motion and her hips bucked, head falling back with a whimper. The reaction was immediate and fascinating and he kept it up, alternating between back and forth and circles. Her legs spread further, opening herself wide.

Pleased, he leaned further over her, so he could suck one of her nipples into his mouth. Her fingers immediately dug into his hair, holding him to her. "Steve," she whimpered, arching up to him.

He kissed his way up to her mouth, and then it was hot and intense. She reached down between them to guide him into her. He groaned as her body closed around him, slick and hot. The silk of her stockings slid over his skin as she wound her legs around him. For a moment he stayed still, overwhelmed with sensation. Sharon feathered light kisses on his face as she waited.

He braced his elbows on either side of her head, and lifted his and looked down at her. "Hey," he whispered.

Stroking his throat lightly, she smiled, "Hi Colonel." He leaned down to kiss her again, and then he started to move. Her lids fluttered shut and her hips lifted, meeting his strokes. He started slow, trying to draw it out. But she felt so good it was hard to hold back.

She hitched her legs higher and the angle let him sink down to the hilt. He felt her nails dig into the skin of his shoulder. "Fuck. Yes," she murmured. "Just like that." He pushed up so he could reach between them, so he could touch her how she liked. She let out a cry, desperation in the sharp sound. He had no idea how long he could hold on, but he wanted her with him.

She grew hotter around him and the glide in and out became easier, slicker. Her nails dug in deeper. With a few more of those desperate sounds she stiffened, skin flushing as she began to ripple and pulse around him.

That. . .that he couldn't take. He let go, let the orgasm rush through him. She clutched him and cried out and he buried himself deep as they rode it out together. When it passed he slumped onto her, breathing hard. After a few moments she found his mouth in a slow, languid kiss that melted his bones. It was the kind of kiss that could go on all night, and he would have been absolutely content to do that. He only moved at all because he had the condom to deal with.

"Don't go anywhere," he whispered.

Obviously reluctant, she let him go. He took a second just to look at her, sprawled on his bed, disheveled and flushed and sexy as hell, before darting to the bathroom to toss the condom and clean up a bit. When he returned he found her exactly as she had been.

She smiled drowsily when she saw him. "I am not sleeping in the stockings."

He sat on the bed, and popped each of the garter buttons. Then he gently rolled down each stocking for her. She wiggled the garter belt down and tossed it aside. Then they did a little fumbling to pull the sheets down and climb into bed, tangling their legs together. "I'm probably going to pester you to do that again before the night is up," she informed him.

"We can do that as many times as you want."

She grinned and kissed him. "Good."


	5. Chapter 5

Having slept so much of the day before, they had plenty of energy that night, and they made use of it. Exploring and learning each other. Catching their physical connection up with their emotional one. It was the most amazing night Sharon had ever had. They fell asleep sometime before dawn with him curled around her, hands splayed protectively over her stomach and breasts.

When she woke, it was midmorning and she was sore, though seriously considering just one more round before she had to go home. They had shifted so she was on her back and he was on his stomach, one arm pinning her hips, legs tangled together.

She ran her fingers through his hair, studying him as he slept. Sometimes it seemed like she'd known him her whole life.

"Mmm," he mumbled, still mostly asleep, then rolled over onto his back.

The sheets were tangled at his waist and she couldn't help but reach out and tug them down a little farther to admire him. She leaned forward to kiss his chest, running a hand along his ribs to his hip. "You starting something?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"I'm thinking about it," she admitted. Her legs and abs were sore from their adventures. But there was already moisture gathering between her legs. She skimmed her hand up and down, getting closer to his growing erection with every pass. "I think I might be addicted to you."

"This isn't normal?" he asked.

"I've never fucked a guy this many times in one night. Certainly not my first night with him." She leaned in to kiss his chest, running her tongue across one pebbled nipple. "Is this SOP for you?"

He yawned and lifted a shoulder. "I wouldn't know."

Her hand stilled, mere inches from its destination, and she lifted her head. "You - You've not done this before?"

He was very still, now, too. "Is that a. . .problem?"

"No," she said immediately, not wanting to upset him. "I just . . . might have done it different. And how did you get so good at it?"

"I'm good at everything I do." He said that with absolutely no ego. "And I don't believe it's humanly possibly to have done it any better last night."

That was a good point. He'd gotten the red dress and garters, plus blow job, plus several more advanced positions. As first times went, that was hard to beat. "I might have checked in a bit more," she said. "Made sure you weren't being rushed."

He stroked his fingers through her hair. "It's really not that big a deal."

She supposed after that long losing your virginity would either be the biggest deal or not worth noting. She kissed him tenderly, shifting on top of him. "Was it all you'd hoped it would be?"

"Yes." He met her eyes. "I haven't lacked for opportunity," he told her. 

Yeah, she supposed there were plenty of fan girls and groupies who'd be interested in him. "I'm flattered."

"Well. You seem to actually like. . .me. It's rarer than you think."

"I liked you when you were just a little bubble on my phone screen. I won't pretend the packaging isn't nice." She wiggled deliberately against him. "But _you_ are way more interesting than Captain America."

His fingers pressed into her hips, and he deftly moved her into a better position on top of him. She had to be addicted to him. It was the only explantation for why she wanted this _again_. "I find you fascinating."

“Me?" She rocked her hips so he slid against her folds, winding them both up. "I'm just me."

"That's a lot, and enough." He lifted her again, this time to push inside her. It took her breath away, as it had several times the night before. He was big and hard and stretched her in all the best ways.

Propping herself up on her hands, she murmured, "You feel so good," before rocking her hips, sliding along his length.

He sighed, the sound a mix of lust and affection and contentment. "So do you."

For a while she was content to keep it slow and lazy. Morning sex was like that sometimes. Plus she wanted to draw it out, enjoy every inch of him, every sigh and groan. His hands grew urgent on her and heat started to build. She sat up and started to ride him harder, taking him deep.

"That's it, baby," he growled at her. "Come on."

She whimpered, head falling back. She loved that tone of voice. She loved that his hands got bossy on her hips, tugging her. She loved that he was strong enough to move up to her, making it rougher. "Please," she mumbled, because he seemed to love it when she made noise, when he managed to unravel her down to to base needs and desperation. "Please I want to come. Fuck me, please, please." Her climax started to bubble up, but his hands and hips kept her moving, so the intensity grew even as it swept through her. He bucked up to her and dimly she could hear him groan as he came just behind her.

After the second or third round during the night, she'd asked him if he could even get sick. He said no, so she told him she had an IUD—which she then had to stop and explain to him because that was information he understandably hadn't gotten to yet—and they ditched the condoms. As it turned out, the first question was moot. And it just felt so much better this way.

She caught herself on her hands, grinding against him as the last waves of pleasure passed through her. Only then she let herself slump down onto his chest. He hummed contentedly and rubbed her back. "This is perfect," he told her.

“Yes, it is." Perfect was just about the only word to describe it.

"Feel like breakfast? Or is a date not allowed to lap itself?"

Heaving herself up to peer at his clock, she sighed. "It would have to be fast. I'm due at work this afternoon."

"Ah yes. Work. I forget people do that sort of thing."

"Regrettably, yes. I suppose I'm lucky I don't have a nine-to-five or I'd be in some deep shit right now." She rolled off him with none of her usual grace. "I would like to squeeze in a shower prior to breakfast and my walk of shame."

He frowned at her. "Walk of shame?"

She kind of liked when they stumbled on modern parlance he was unfamiliar with. "When you see a girl or guy headed home in the morning in clothes they clearly wore out on a date or to the clubs the night before, therefore indicating they have been out all night, it's called a walk of shame. I was using it mostly ironically as I will happily brag to anyone who looks at me funny how completely and thoroughly laid I got last night."

"I could probably dig you up something to wear," he offered.

"I'd appreciate that. If for no other reason than my legs will be cold."

He got up and opened one of his drawers to pull out sweatpants with a drawstring waist. Walking home in full evening-wear was kind of a one-night-stand walk of shame. Going home in heels and cobbled together mens clothing said you had a new boyfriend.

He found her a t-shirt and ushered her into the bathroom for her shower. She managed to wash her hair before he apparently couldn't take the temptation and joined her. Sex with someone who could hold her entire body weight with one hand was not something she'd ever thought to dream of, but was extremely enjoyable. 

"Definitely addicted," she said, cinching the sweatpants as tight as they could go while he shaved. "Going to need to schedule regular hits."

"That can be arranged," he said. He shaved with an old-fashioned safety razor, a brush and a cup of soap. Though he'd modernized well, in his clothing and mannerisms, but there were some things about him that were still very 1940's. She expected it wasn't out of a lack of adaptation, but that he'd inspected both methods and decided that adding technology to shaving was not an improvement.

She ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she had a band or clip to put it up with. It was going to dry all wavy. "Something that occurred to me."

He scraped the last of the soap off his jaw. "I never got around to fucking you against the door?"

"That. And. . . do you think we should tell Peggy?"

He put the razor down on the sink and turned to look at her. "Depends."

Sharon arched a brow. "On?"

He sighed. "What year she thinks it is."

That was a good point. "We should at least try. Go to visit, gauge what kind of day she's having."

"If she's herself, I think she'd be happy for us."

"I think so, too. I know she's worried about me being alone, letting my job consume me. I imagine on her good days she has similar worries about you."

"She helped me make the decision to retire," he said. "And _not_ go work for SHIELD. And, actually, to tell Tony Stark I would come help if there was another world-endangering crisis. She told me I needed balance."

"Peggy always talked about balance," she said as he wiped off his jaw and followed her out of the bathroom to finish dressing. "I think it took her a long time to find it."

"It's not exactly something anybody gets during a war, and that's where we both cut our teeth and. . . learned how to be adults. Tough habit to shake."

"Do I give you balance?" she asked, watching him tug a t-shirt over his head.

"I'm not sure this amount of sex is particularly balanced."

"Considering how long the dry spell before it was. . ."

He sat on the end of his bed. "That was one of those things the war kind of crowded out."

Sharon went over to stand in front of him. "They sure took everything from you, didn't they?"

Steve sighed, closed his eyes and bent his head. His voice was a little rough when he said, "Suppose so."

Immediately feeling guilty, she stepped closer, nudging his legs open to stand between them. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, don't, I just. . ." he looked up at her. "It's been a hard year."

"I know." She stroked her fingers through his hair. "I wish I knew what to say."

He stood up, and pulled her into a hug. "You don't always need to say something."

She put her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest. "I just. . . want to make it better."

"You do," he whispered. "You have for a while now."

"I hope to continue to do so for a long time."

He tipped her chin up, so she'd look at him. "I certainly hope so."

Smiling, she went up on his toes and kissed him. As the kiss went on, his fingers crept beneath the waistband of her sweats. She sighed, already growing damp in anticipation. "Am I gonna be late for work?" she murmured.

"I did make some promises about that door. And I'm a man of my word."

"Mmm." His hand was still inching south. "I hope it's a sturdy door."

He began backing her up. "Guess we'll find out."

*

Steve was in a slightly suspect looking Thai restaurant with great Yelp reviews waiting for Sam. His phone beeped with the specific tone he'd given Sharon long before he knew her name. Now it had a little picture of her face attached, too.

_So. Apparently it's not exactly a good thing to go from having no sex to doing it 32 times in 7 days. Seems I have a UTI._

_32? Seemed like more._ That was mostly a stall, so he could google what a UTI was.

_I'm only counting penis-in-vagina encounters, not oral and manual._

_I'm sorry, that sounds painful._

He heard a chair scrape the floor and looked up to see Sam sitting down across from him. "Hey. Still texting that girl?"

Steve lowered his phone. "Yep."

"Does she know you're not a wrinkly old dude with prostate issues."

He fought a smile. "Yep."

Sam grinned. "Good! How did that go?"

He frowned at the phone, which was displaying a photo she'd sent of a gallon-sized jug of cranberry juice. "So well it seems we accidentally broke her Lady Parts."

He choked on the sip of water he'd taken and had to pause to cough before responding. "You slept with her?"

"A lot."

"I am so proud of you." It was said with such sincerity Steve suspected he actually meant it. "Though, damn man, you work fast."

"It just kind of happened. And then kept happening. I have no idea, man. We've got some kind of crazy chemistry."

"So strong it breaks lady bits, apparently."

"Should I leave her alone? Or bring her soup or something?"

"I don't know that soup is the recommended cure for such things. But some chocolate and fussing might not go amiss."

"Chocolate. Got it." He contemplated the menu a moment. "One crazy coincidence. She's Peggy's grand-niece."

Sam's brows arched. "Seriously? That is a hell of a coincidence." He reached for his water again. "And it's not weird?"

"No. She doesn't look like her. And the similarities in personality probably speak more to my 'type' in women than anything else."

That got him a chuckle. "Well, good. You look happy."

"I am," he said. "Thanks for the nudge."

"I live to serve."

That afternoon, he picked up chocolate ice cream and some flowers before texting Sharon. _You up for company? I'll keep my hands to myself._

_I'd love some company. And does that mean you're gonna jerk off while I watch, 'cause I can work with that._

He stared at it before he could formulate a response. _How are you still in the mood? Don't things hurt?_

_It's really more theoretical. I don't actually want to be touched._ After a pause she added, _I guess men don't really watch porn recreationally, do they?_

_Not that I know of._ He stopped in front of her building. _I'm here, buzz me up?_ The door buzzed a moment later and he headed in, taking the stairs up to her place. The door was unlocked and he let himself in to find her curled up on the couch under her nest of blankets.

"Hi," he said, holding out the flowers and the tub of ice cream. "I'm sorry."

She smiled and sat up a little. "It's not your fault." She held out her hands and he brought his offerings over. "This was very sweet of you."

"It was half my fault." He reached out to stroke her hair. "And they all probably should count. If you're talking about bacteria, human mouths are really dirty."

"That's a good point. But I was hardly discouraging you." She tipped her face up and he obliged her with a kiss. "And now you're volunteering for nursemaid duties, which totally gets you boyfriend points."

It was the first time she'd called him that, and it made him happy. "I need to put the flowers in water. Anything else I can get you? Other than a spoon?"

She glanced at her computer. "There's a packet of pills on the counter, I'm due for my second dose."

He kissed the top of her head, and got up to get them. He found a vase, two bowls and spoons, and her pills. He popped it out of the packet and handed it over. She swallowed the pill with a bite of ice cream, then rearranged her blankets for him to join her. "How was your day?" she asked when he had settled.

"Good. I had lunch with Sam. He's proud of me."

"Told him about our week of excess?"

"I didn't give him the count or anything. Didn't want to scare the man."

She chuckled and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you have someone to brag to."

"This is the happiest I've been in a long time," he told her.

"Me too." She said it quietly, like a confession. "Like some pieces that were missing fell into place."

"That's a very apt description." He looked down at her. "I am a little famous. And I promised Tony Stark I'd come be an Avenger again if there was another emergency."

Sucking ice cream off her spoon, she looked up at him. "That only makes me like you more."

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay with that."

"Way I see it, I put myself in danger on a regular basis. Detectives don't get shot as often as beat cops, but it happens. And if something like the Battle of New York happened again I'd be back there on the front lines. So I can't fault you for doing the same thing on a grander scale." She smiled. "The famous thing might be tougher, but what can you do?"

"I could grow beard."

She leaned back, squinting. "That might be sexy. You should try that."

"I'd probably be recognized less."

"Definitely. No one expects Captain America to go lumberjack."

Might be nice not to have to shave every day. "After we tell Peggy. Just in case she's having a bad day."

Sharon nodded, looking solemn. "When do you want to do it? Once I'm back on my feet?"

"Yeah. We could stay over night in DC. Get a nice hotel room."

She paused and he saw her think of something, then discard it. "I like hotels."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I just thought we could do coffee or something with my brothers or parents. But we're probably not there yet, are we?"

"I realize I'm from a different generation, but I think sex is pretty. . .there."

"I didn't want to rush you. Technically we've only been dating a week."

"Doesn't matter where it was, just where it's going."

 That made her smile and she tucked herself closer to him. "I'll send out some feelers, see what they think."

He kissed her temple. "So what do we do with ourselves now that our other activity is off the table."

"Do you have any movies on your list you're dying to get through?"

"No, no. You're getting the fussing today," he told her.

"Bingeing Project Runway on Netflix it is."

Steve frowned. "I. . . don't know what that is."

Her giggle was less than reassuring. "It's a tv show where fashion designers compete against each other."

"For what?"

"The winner gets money to start their own fashion line."

That sounded completely terrible. "We can watch that."

She grinned and kissed him, reaching for the TV remote. "You're a good sport, Rogers."

"Anything for my girl," he replied.


	6. Chapter 6

They had some people out on leave, and she'd just taken sick days, so it took Sharon a while to get the extra day off to go down the DC for the meet the family trip. It was probably for the best, in case her mother started asking detailed questions about their relationship, that they had a little more time as an official couple.

Plus she was fully better enough to enjoy the hotel sex.

They took the train down Friday afternoon, early enough to miss the rest of the weekend crush. Steve had picked the hotel, a little bed and breakfast in an historic building in Adams Morgan. It was a very him sort of place and the bed was solid wood, so he wouldn't destroy it.

He leaned over to kiss her temple. "I approve."

"It's very nice," she agreed, dropping her bag at the end of it. "Hopefully the walls are also thick."

He knocked on one. "Looks like plaster. Better than that crap they put up nowadays."

"I won't hold back then," she said with a wink, enjoying the grin that got her. "You want to go get a late lunch?" 

"Yes. Sustenance before the visits begin."

Sliding her arms around him, she leaned up to kiss him. "You ready for this?"

"Is your family going to be nice to me?"

"I think so. I tried to warn my mother who you were and I don't think she believed me. So we might need to deal with some wide-eyed astonishment at the beginning."

He turned to look at her. "Your mother thought you made up a relationship with Captain America?"

"I think she thought I was joking or teasing. Maybe you're the American equivalent of Prince Charming? I don't know."

"I really don't think I'm that charming."

Of course he didn't. She kissed him again. "Well, she'll realize I meant it soon enough."

They got lunch at a nearby cafe. He was growing out a bit of a beard, and there was enough of it that it provided decent camouflage. Nobody gave them a second glance. It was extremely nice to have a meal out without worrying about such things. Afterwards they walked down to the Metro stop hand-in-hand. "Peggy first?" she asked.

"It's certainly the most fraught."

"Seems polite to start with her. And then we have time for a second try if she's having a bad day."

The nursing home Peggy lived in was very nice. Much to the surprise of the family, she'd been left a considerable amount of money in Howard Stark's will. It had been in a trust while she was working even a little, and so now paid her expenses. The woman at the front desk knew both of them, but seemed surprised to see them together.

"How is she today?" Sharon asked as she signed the guest book.

"Good, last I heard. The nurse had to turn her TV off, though. CSPAN was making her angry."

"That's probably a good sign," Steve said.

"I would think so." She took his hand again as they walked down the hall, suddenly nervous. "Of course, I hope this doesn't _cause_ her to have a bad day."

"I'm fine if she's not happy, as long as she's there, you know?"

"Yes." It would be awful to come all this way only to have Peggy unable to grasp what they were telling her. She knew it was hard for Steve to see her like that, constantly having to reunite over and over.

When they stepped into Peggy's room she was sitting up watching an old black and white movie. She blinked at their arrival, then smiled, hands fluttering a little on her lap. "Well now. Two of my favorite people. This is a surprise."

Sharon could see Steve's shoulders relax. He smiled and gestured at the TV. "Gave up on the politics?"

Peggy made a face. "They're all idiots. Were they such idiots when we were young?"

"Yes," Steve said, sitting in one of the chairs. "Remember how I had to wear tights?"

"Vividly," she said with a smile. She looked past him, at Sharon. "How are you, darling? Put away any bad men recently?”

"Sadly, no. It was a slow week."

Steve glanced up at her, then back at Peggy. "We came because we wanted to. . . tell you something."

Now it was Peggy's turn to look from one to the other. A small smile curled one corner of her mouth. "And what is that?"

"We, uh. . . we met by pure accident in New York," he started. "And got to be friends."

"Friends." Her eyes twinkled. "Is that what they call it?"

Sharon stepped behind Steve and curled an arm around him. "Special friends."

"I have no idea what people call it nowadays," he said. "But yes, we are together."

"Oh," Peggy said softly. "How lovely. For both of you."

He reached up to squeeze Sharon's hand. "We wanted to come down to tell you." 

"Thank you. I'm very happy. For both of you." She smiled. "You've both been so lonely."

Steve laughed a little. "I didn't know it was that obvious."

"Only because I know you well." She reached out and took his hand, giving it a little squeeze. "You look happy."

He smiled in return, and his voice had a little catch to it. "For once I really am."

"Good. That's good. She's a good girl." Sharon was becoming concerned that Peggy had forgotten she was there, when her aunt looked up at her. "You'll take good care of him for me, darling?"

"The very best," Sharon promised, giving Steve a little squeeze.

She gestured at the TV. "Sit down, then, watch a little telly with me." Sharon pulled the other guest chair over and settled in. The three of them watched the rest of the movie, Peggy and Steve peppering it with commentary.

Afterward the nurse came in for medications and vitals, and the two of them bid her goodbye. Steve reached for Sharon's hand on the sidewalk. "That was a very good day."

"Yes, it was. Better than I'd thought to hope for."

"I wonder if it helped it was the two of us. One anchor in the past, one in the present."

"Actually, that does make sense." She smiled and leaned on his arm, feeling like a weight had been lifted. "I'm glad she's happy."

"And now there's the rest of your family."

Yes. Them. "It's not too late to go back to the hotel and just have sex all weekend."

"Are you expecting me to carry the weight in deciding not to do just that?"

She laughed. "No. No. We should see them. Rip the bandaid off."

"And then the hotel thing."

"Oh, definitely the hotel thing."

They ended up swinging by the hotel briefly to change and freshen up before dinner. Steve gave her an amused look when he saw her putting on make-up.

"Mom will comment," she explained as they headed back out. They were meeting her parents at an Italian place a few blocks away. It seemed less pressure than going out to their house. And they were willing to balance Steve getting recognized with no one making a scene.

"Your mother will comment if you're not wearing eyeliner?"

She sighed. "She's a believer in dressing up to go out."

He made a grumpy noise she appreciated. "I think you're gorgeous just as you are."

"Thank you, honey." She went on her toes and kissed his cheek. "You can help me wipe it all off later."

The restaurant was large and busy enough to have a private room. It wasn't entirely isolated, but it was secluded enough to give them a bit of privacy. Steve squeezed her hand as the maitre d led them back.

Her parents was already there, Mom's fading blonde hair swept back in her trademark twist. She smiled when she spotted Sharon and began to stand. Then the expression froze when she spotted Steve. To her credit, she recovered quickly and finished standing and held her arms out for a hug. “It's so good to see you, honey."

Sharon squeezed her tight. "Hi Mom. Dad." She bent to kiss his cheek. "I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Steve Rogers. Steve, my parents."

She could see he'd put on his best USO grin. "It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Mom looked him up and down, then held out her hand. "You too. Sharon's told me a lot about you."

"Good, I'm glad you're hearing something other than my exaggerated legend."

Her father stood to shake his hand as well. "In this family we've learned to take legends with a grain of salt."

Sharon watched Steve's smile melt into something more genuine. "That I believe." 

Steve held her chair out of her and they all got settled. "Your brothers are on their way," Dad said. “Matt and Linda had some babysitter trouble and you know how Pat is about being on time."

"We can tell them I told all the good stories before they got here," Steve said, and her father snorted a laugh.

Her mother lifted a hand to flag down the waitress. "Well, I, for one, can't wait to hear how you two met."

And the rest of the dinner passed perfectly pleasantly. Her brothers arrived with their wives and both had amusing double takes when they recognized Steve. Fortunately, once the initial shock wore off they were cool. It was a typical "meet the boyfriend" interrogation, but done in good fun. And she rather thought Steve liked how very normal it was.

He did tell a couple of Captain America stories, including a funny one she'd never heard about having dinner with the rest of the Avengers after the battle of New York and falling asleep in his plate.

They lingered over coffee and an absolutely scrumptious pot du creme. She didn't miss Steve watching her eat it like he was going to eat _her_. Matt and Linda had to bow out early to relieve the babysitter and the rest of them decided to call it a night soon after.

Sharon hugged her mom and dad on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. "You come visit again soon," Mom demanded.

"Yes'm."

"Thank you for dinner," Steve said. "It was really great to meet you."

Her mom stepped over to hug him as well. "It was lovely to meet you, as well. I'm very glad you found each other."

He met Sharon's eyes over the top of her head. "I am, too."

They said their goodbyes and her parents walked off to where their car was parked while she and Steve headed back to the Metro. She took his hand as they walked. "I feel like we should play the lottery or something, way our day is going."

"Maybe this is how it goes. When it works. The pieces just fall into place."

"Maybe. But I choose to believe we're special."

"Well. That, too."

At the stop of the Metro stairs, she stopped and looked up at him. It seemed the kind of moment to say something profound, but nothing she felt could be put into words. So she went on her tiptoes and kissed him. "I'm very happy."

"Me too. I was starting to think I'd forgotten how."

She hugged him tight, taking a deep breath of his scent. "Want to go to the hotel and celebrate a job well done?"

He grinned. "As many times as we can fit in before check out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this one. I know it's a little abrupt, but we intended this to originally be a quick one-shot for Sharon Carter Appreciation Month. And then it became longer. And LONGER. And now we have a sequel in the works. Because of course we do. We thought this was a nice place to leave these crazy kids for the time being, though.


End file.
